


Going Once, Going Twice

by LadyZaniahStrangeling



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: 'everybody loves Mr Turner', 1000 words and more, M/M, Mr O'Gorman the English teacher, Mr Turner the Drama teacher, because Dean and poetry okay?, teacher!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:22:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZaniahStrangeling/pseuds/LadyZaniahStrangeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Aidan says as he sets the cup of coffee down on Dean’s desk. “Are you going to sign up for the charity thing?”</p><p>“The teacher auction?” Dean raises his eyebrows, looking up briefly from the English essays he’s currently grading. “God, no,” he snorts. “Dealing with these little pricks every day is bad enough. I’m not going to give them another opportunity to make my life hell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Once, Going Twice

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate the fact that the bane of my existence for the past few months (aka the massive exam I sat this morning) is now over. Also, apologies for the fact that Still Here (I'm Not A War Machine) hasn't been updated. It's coming, I SWEAR! That is one fic I refuse to give up on.
> 
> This was written after I had a similar thing at my own school, though unfortunately, the teachers were not the same. Apologies for the crappiness, but I wanted to let you all know I'm still alive.

“So,” Aidan says as he sets the cup of coffee down on Dean’s desk. “Are you going to sign up for the charity thing?”

“The teacher auction?” Dean raises his eyebrows, looking up briefly from the English essays he’s currently grading. “God, no,” he snorts. “Dealing with these little pricks every day is bad enough. I’m not going to give them another opportunity to make my life hell.”

Aidan smirks from behind his coffee cup and leans against a table in the empty classroom. “Thought you like your job,” he says, setting his mug down beside him and crossing his arms.

Dean takes a sip of his own coffee. “I do,” he says earnestly. “But when a subject that most people hate is made compulsory…” He pulls a face, not needing to finish his sentence. “And somehow I managed to get stuck with all the dickheads this year.” At the dark-haired man’s laugh, Dean continues. “It alright for you – you’re teaching an elective where you only get kids who wanna be there.”

Aidan shrugs, fingering the buttons of his rolled-up sleeve cuff. “Or the ones who just think it’s a bludge.”

“Or the girls who just think you’re hot,” Dean adds with a wink.

Opening his mouth indignantly to protest, Aidan replies hotly with, “Says the teacher who made a girl faint while he was reading Shakespeare last year.”

“Hey, she was severely dehydrated,” Dean counters, pointing his red marking pen sternly at the Drama teacher, who grins cheekily beneath his curls. “That rumour got way out of hand.” Then he adds as a quiet afterthought “That’s our next unit, actually. Poetry.”

Pushing himself off the table, Aidan cautions a glance at the closed classroom door before slinking over to lean behind Dean, pinning the English teacher between his outstretched arms that rest on the desk. “Well, you know,” he murmurs huskily, nosing the shell of Dean’s ear, “if you ever feel like practicing your poetry at home…” He lets his words trail off into the air, conveying the unsaid promises and suggestions as he plants a breath of a kiss on the nape of Dean’s neck.

A hand on his arm stop him from going further. “ _Aidan_ ,” the blonde croaks. “Fuck it, you bloody tease, you _know_ I have to mark these by tomorrow.”

The words “Well, hurry up,” are licked into the slice of skin between Dean’s collarbone and shirt seductively. “Before I lose it and straddle you in this damn chair right now.”

“You’re impossible, y’know that?” escapes from Dean’s mouth in a gasping laugh.

“Mmm,” Aidan only murmurs. “But you love me.”

“I do,” the blonde quietly affirms. He closes his eyes and leans back into Aidan’s body behind him. After a few seconds, his eyes open, and he gently bats at Aidan’s arms. “But right now, you’re distracting me, and I _really_ need to get these essays done.” Aidan pouts, his dark eyes attempting their usual magic. “ _Later_ ,” Dean promises. “At home.” He starts etching a red smiley-face onto the back of Aidan’s hand before he pushes harder.

“Later?” Aidan relents, moving back over to his coffee cup, suddenly the picture of innocence and professionalism.

“Yes, later,” Dean promises, smacking his ass as he walks past the desk. “ _Go._ ” He points commandingly at the door, pen in hand, when he senses the other man turning around with a wide and toothy grin. Dean instead focuses his attention at the splotches of ink that vaguely resemble words and sentences on the paper in front of him. He smiles to himself when he hears the click of the door before groaning, realising that it’s even harder to concentrate with the mental image of who’s waiting for him at home bubbling up into the forefront of his mind.

*****

Dean realises why Aidan asked about the auction when he sees the information-sign-up sheet in the staffroom the next morning. A charity fundraiser, Adam the librarian thought it would be a good way to raise awareness of his chosen charity as well as providing a fun opportunity for the students to have the teacher of their choice be ‘theirs’ for the day, doing whatever they want (within reason, the information sheet reassures).

“Really?” he asks, sensing the Drama teacher behind him.

Aidan shrugs. “It sounds like fun,” he answers. “I mean, what’s the worst they’ll do to me? Besides, it’s only a day.”

“Yes, but you’re the ‘cool’ teacher,” Dean says. “ _Everybody_ loves Mr. Turner. I’m just the ‘grumpy asshole with an unbearable love for Shakespeare and poetry’.” Aidan snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Are you two signing up?” Adam asks excitedly, suddenly appearing behind Dean. Coach McTavish is with him, dressed in his usual sporting jacket and tracksuit. “Cool! Graham was just about to sign up too!” The weedy-looking librarian bounces excitedly, while Coach McTavish only grunts incoherently, his face suggesting he’d rather be anywhere but beside the energetic stick of a man beside him.

“Hmm? Oh, I wasn’t, but, uh, Aidan’s got his name down,” Dean says, distractedly rummaging through his laptop bag beside him to see if he’d left the essays he’d been marking yesterday on his desk.

“It’ll be so much fun,” Adam gushes. “And it’s all going to a good cause of course.” He nods seriously, eyes comically wide behind his wide-framed glasses.

The bell rings throughout the school, signalling start of classes.

“Shit,” Dean swears when his search proves to be fruitless and he discovers that yes, he _has_ left those damn essays on his desk, “I gotta go, I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

And with that, he dashes out of the staffroom, disappearing in between the winding throng of aimlessly and noisy students.

*****

Aidan’s disappointed that Dean isn’t able to make it to the charity auction. Despite the other man’s misgivings, it’s actually turned out to be a pretty decent affair, set out on the football field with the student council selling food and drinks as well. But Dean told him that even though he’d like to be there (to “laugh at you after you’ve been bought, you poor bugger. And I bet it’s by a group of giggling girls, too.”), he has to attend an important curriculum meeting.

He’s also right about everybody liking Mr Turner. Bids are coming thick and fast as he stands on the makeshift stage, and the auctioneer, Stephen the guidance councillor, has trouble keeping up. Aidan starts to feel nervous when the group of girls in front of him begin to eye him off, and he shuffles gently backward, trying to keep as much space as possible between them.

But the bidding is over when Jed from I.T. suddenly climbs the stairs, handing a note to Stephen, who’s eyebrows shoot up, as he reads, “And we have a bid of two hundred dollars, ladies and gentlemen, to top the bidding. Is anyone going to give me two-ten?” Apart from the disappointed murmur that spreads through the crowd (no one’s willing to pay _that_ much for a teacher, however ‘cool’ they are) and the desperate pouts from the group of girls who – even with their money pooled – can’t match the newest bid, there’s silence, and Aidan finally finds himself sold to an unknown bidder and being shunted off stage as the immovable Coach McTavish ascends the stairs.

There’s no sign of the mysterious buyer for the rest of the day – not even a note or message of some kind. The last bell for the day sirens out, and Aidan dismisses his class, watching them head for the door in a flurry of voices and moving bodies. Heading to his desk as the last stragglers leave, he pilfers his phone from his bag, flicking through the contacts until he finds Dean’s number. Thumb hovering over it, he turns around when there’s a timid knock at the doorway. He smiles at the student, who only mumbles that they “Have to give this to Mr. Turner,” before fleeing.

Aidan frowns at the note, which reads ‘A3’. Twisting his wrist, he flicks it over, but there’s no other mark on the paper, nor does he recognise the writing. Thinking that it’s some students’ idea of a dumb joke, Aidan packs up his things and heads across the school to the Art building, traversing the unfamiliar corridors until he finds room 3.

It’s dark when he enters, so he flicks on the light with a groping hand, the fluorescent bulbs illuminating a row of easels and artwork. He sets his bag on the table, and that’s when he hears the door slam shut behind him. Whipping around and sending his dark curls into a tornado of activity, Aidan’s pounding heart slows slightly when he sees Dean leaning against the door, trademark smirk wrapped around his handsome features.

“You sent me that note?” he asks, and the English teacher shrugs, grin widening.

“I had to meet my slave somehow,” he says.

Aidan throws his head back with laughter. “So _you_ were the mysterious bidder who bought me,” he says.

Dean pushes himself off the door hips-first and repeats his shrugging action. “Well, there wasn’t a rule that said teachers weren’t allowed to bid for other teachers,” he justifies, his eyes visibly running up and down the length of Aidan’s body. “And call me a selfish bastard,” he continues in softer tones as the other man steps towards him, “but I didn’t feel like sharing.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” Aidan agrees with a chuckle. He stops in front of Dean, who switches off the lights before leaning up to kiss the dark-haired man. “I’ve always wanted to do it in a darkened storeroom,” the Drama teacher jokes as his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Dean hums an agreement. “So,” he says in between kisses. “I’ve got a long list of things you can do for me and it’s safe to say that it’s gonna take longer than just one day.” He steps backwards, dragging the other with him until his back hits the wall with a _thump_ , and he slips his hands beneath Aidan’s button-up.

The dark-haired man gives a wicked grin that glints in the minimal light. “Well let’s get started then.”


End file.
